Arrangements
by cocoapurl
Summary: Isabella Swan reluctantly becomes involved with someone that makes her question her philosophy regarding her relationships with men.


**A/N: **This one-shot was a way for me to break this writing anxiety I have right now. Also, it was an emotional response to an article that was posted on a web site for the magazine, _Psychology Today_. The article was entitled, "Why are Black Women Less Physically Attractive Than Other Women." I was highly offended and disturbed as a black woman, but also because the guy who wrote the article is a university professor. He shapes and molds minds. He took already established research, misinterpreted it and insulted the intelligence of the entire literate world and an entire race of women. This little story helped me get over it.

I hope you all had happy holidays, if you celebrate. I also hope the new year brings everything you wish for. I will be getting Chapter 28 of**I Should Die Before I Wake **out. I am so sorry for the wait. I never intended for it to be this long. The chapter is slow going. I've started it and scrapped it at least eight times. My goal is to post it by the end of the week. Please, don't give up on me and thanks for sticking with and checking in on me.

This hasn't been pre-read or betad, so please forgive my errors. I hope you enjoy. :)

**Arrangements**

The view from her apartment window of the tomb-like December morning was typical for this time of year in Chicago. She had seen these days come and go for the last twenty-one years of her conscious life. The shroud of gray that blanketed the sky gave Isabella Swan the feeling of being buried alive like an Egyptian servant. However, as she looked over at the muscular and veined arm that stuck out from under her sheets, she realized the mummy she was with was in fact very regal, but she didn't want to be buried with him. Suddenly, his dress shirt that was hanging precariously off her shoulder because of its sheer size on her petite frame, felt like it had a strangle hold around her neck.

_Breathe, Bella. Just breathe._

The epiphany she had a few years ago made life much simpler. Men were on the right track when they broke women down into body parts. When she started to think like men, she had much easier relationships.

For example, if she gave "Beefy Arm" a really good blow job, he would change the light bulbs she couldn't reach and clean off her car for her on mornings like this. She didn't even have to make him a good breakfast, if she let him spend the night. One bowl of cheerios with a promise to call him "later" and she had more light to get ready by in the morning and a warm car for the morning commute. If she let "Pony Tail" hit it from behind, slap her on the ass and call her "mommy," he was more willing to go dancing with her on Saturday nights. She only had a minute urge to throw up a little in her mouth.

Granted, she could change a light bulb or call the creepy maintenance man that she was almost one hundred percent certain had stolen her favorite pink La Perla bra and panty set and was doing God knows what with them. She could also go dancing by herself or call one of her girlfriends to go with her. The question she had begun to ask herself was why? People use each other. Why should she be the only one getting emotionally involved?

Her attention was drawn back to the present and re-directed to the mummy in her bed as he began to stir back to life. She was beginning to feel that she made a mistake with this one. He was a "Snuggler" and she didn't do snuggling anymore. Another factor that made him undesirable for her purposes was that she couldn't narrow down a body part to call him by in her mind. Every little thing about his body, from his penny-colored hair and hypnotizing emerald eyes, to his elegant feet made up a lust-inducing total package. Then, he was also so unbelievably sweet, thoughtful, and talented with so many gifts, which added to his masculine charm and beauty.

_Damn it! I wish I knew what he sees in me. Didn't that article say black women were objectively the least physically attractive among all women or some other asinine thing?_

It was the Sunday morning after Christmas and she didn't have anywhere to be, so she would have to lie to him to push him out of her apartment. She had managed this new found philosophy with the two other men she juggled in her life without being a liar. They knew about each other and that she didn't want a relationship. It was a mutually agreeable arrangement. All three of them were tested. Condoms and the birth control shot were used and there was no drama for a long time.

The "Snuggler" almost made her forget to demand a condom last night and this morning. When she did, he happily and eagerly handed it to her and asked her to put it on for him. A shiver and a flash of heat shot down her spine simultaneously, as she recalled sheathing him three times. She wanted to do it again.

"Come back to bed, gorgeous." The "Snuggler" lifted up her cotton sheets on her four-poster king-size bed and invited her back into his waiting elegant arms to cuddle up to his gloriously naked body. She finally peered at his face as he lobbed that dangerous smile at her that made her forget herself and take him home and into her bed, in the shower, up against her wall and on her kitchen floor.

_I just waxed that floor (no pun intended)! Now I have to do it all over again. _

She inched toward her bed thinking about all of the things she could do to get him out of there.

"I'm not leaving yet, Isabella. I'm making you an avocado frittata for brunch. So, come back to bed and stop over-thinking every damn thing."

_Damn! How does he do that shit? Everybody else says I'm hard to read._

"You're only hard to read when you're not emotionally involved. When you care, I can see right into your soul through those beautiful topaz eyes. Scoot closer to me, sweetheart. I can't sleep well if you're not close enough to me."

_Say something! Make him leave!_

"Edward?" She didn't even recognize her own voice as she cuddled her back against the warmth and security of his chest. She could feel the comfort of his heart beat and smell his spicy aftershave.

"Yeah, baby?" He was combing his fingers through her hair and massaging her scalp while kissing her shoulder blade softly.

Nobody had done that since she had gone natural. In her other arrangements, her close-cropped, coarse, and curly afro was a turn-off. "Beefy Arm" had even asked her why she didn't wear a weave or braids. She promptly told him that there were plenty of women out there that do and he should go be with someone he finds aesthetically pleasing. There was no bitterness or anger, but if the arrangement wasn't working out for him, he was always free to leave. "Beefy Arm" stopped coming by after that. He called her an "ice-cold bitch" as he stormed out and slammed her door, jarring the whole apartment. "Pony Tail" had ended their arrangement in a similar huff. She knew from a certain perspective that they were right, but at the time she really didn't care. One too many men had been careless with her heart, so she had adjusted her attitude, before the mummy.

If the "Snuggler" left that way, it scared her to think how pathetic she would look chasing him down the street begging his forgiveness, like a scene from _Bridget Jones' Diary._

"I prefer Denver omelets." She finally replied.

He chuckled into her neck and pulled her even tighter into his body. She began to fall asleep to him humming the song he wrote for her as a Christmas present softly into her ear. Her last thoughts before drifting off were,

_It's too late now. I'm in too deep. Damn the "Snuggler" and his sweet ways!_


End file.
